


Dress the Part

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale's Heavenly kilt uniform, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Crowley in a ridiculous Hell uniform, Desk Sex, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: Nearly a year to the day they averted Armageddon, Aziraphale walked into his office to find a box on his desk. It contained everything that had been in his locker in Heaven: assorted office supplies, a sword maintenance kit (unopened), and the Heavenly army uniform he'd been issued. From the jacket to the kilt.Aziraphale's never even tried the uniform on before. But, as Crowley nonchalantly points out, nobody's stopping him. And he does make it look good. Good enough for, say… some roleplay involving a righteous angelic lieutenant meeting a captured demonic soldier in his private office.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 288
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Dress the Part

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt from the kink meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1282664), which quotes a Tumblr post. "Tbh we as a fandom have really failed in regards to the “former soldier digs out his old uniform and tries it on, causing their SO to spontaneously combust with lust” trope. / What I’m saying is, let Crowley see Aziraphale in his kilt."

Nearly a year to the day they averted Armageddon, Aziraphale walked into his office to find a box on his desk.

It was a banker's box, plain white. Careful script adorned the end, some crossed out. It had probably been sitting in the same spot for millennia, untouched, in case Aziraphale ever got around to it. He hadn't. Instead someone in the records office had. And decided to send it down to Earth instead of incinerating it.

Aziraphale stood in the doorway, sipping his tea and staring at the box for so long that the bell over the front door went off. He cupped both hands around his mug to soak in what was left of the heat.

There was no sense opening the box on his own if Crowley was already here.

Faint footsteps wound through the aisles. It sounded like Crowley stopped at the front counter. Hovered, waiting, until he decided that Aziraphale wasn't coming to investigate the shop bell. Footsteps near the stairs suggested that he walked up a few of the steps, came back down, and then passed through two more aisles. By the time he got to the office Aziraphale had finished off the last of his tea. He was also sure Crowley had done this on purpose.

"If you were aiming to be the most annoying thing in the shop," Aziraphale murmured, tilting his head to solicit and accept a kiss to his cheek, "you're about fifteen minutes too late."

"I am always the most annoying thing in this shop. Barring customers." Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Why're we glowering at a cardboard box?"

"Read the side."

Crowley did. Then he straightened up. His spine made a popping sound of protest. "Took them a year to clean out your locker."

Aziraphale glanced back and raised both eyebrows. "Hell sent your things and you didn't tell me, then?"

"Didn't keep things in Hell."

He eased around Aziraphale and slid into the office. Which he treated much the same as he did the rest of the shop. That is to say, he dragged his fingers along the edge of the desk, spun a pen around so it nearly but didn't quite tip onto the floor, and came to rest behind Aziraphale's chair. Ever since Armageddon Crowley had been making excuses to touch things in the shop in a way he never had before.

Aziraphale looked down into his empty cup. Truly, he didn't mind. It wasn't as if Crowley touched the books. Not unless he was invited.

Now, Crowley put both hands down on the desk, palms flat, and leaned over the box.

"It is cardboard," Aziraphale said. "You can't loom at it."

"Could put it in your shredder. If we cut it down." Crowley made an expression that was not a grin but did show teeth. "Think I've got a box cutter out in the glove compartment."

"It's kind that you want to intimidate a box for me, dear, but I'm not bothered."

"That's why you were lurking in the doorway where it couldn't get you, sure." Crowley dragged one finger along the box lid. His nail was suddenly sharp enough to fray the white outer coating. "Want me to open it?"

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed. "Might as well."

The writing on the box read:

_OWNER: Aziraphale  
RANK: ~~Cherub~~ ~~Throne~~ ~~Virtue~~ Angel  
JOB TITLE: Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate  
OFFICE LOCATION: ~~Eden~~ ~~Rome(?)~~ ~~Camelot~~ London  
REASON FOR LOCKER PURGE: Spring Cleaning? (Y/ **N** ) Fallen? (Y/ **N** ) Other: ~~Retired??~~ ~~Resigned…?~~ Freelance.  
CONTENTS: Assorted office supplies, nameplate, sword maintenance kit (unopened), 1 uniform (standard issue), 1 shiny rock_

Crowley tossed the lid to the floor and picked up the shiniest thing inside. "What's with the rock?"

"It's an ammonite fossil," Aziraphale said. He put his mug down and took the spiral rock into his hand. This one had opalized before it'd been finished. "It was a gag gift," he explained. "After Earth was complete, but before I went down to Eden, we had a party. The other Cherubim gave it to me."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and, even through the sunglasses, trailed his eyes over Aziraphale in a textbook definition of a leer. "Is it true what they say about Cherubim parties?"

"It was an office-wide event," Aziraphale replied, primly.

"Uh-huh."

"They didn't really understand why I pestered the assignments office for the last open Principality position." Aziraphale turned the gleaming fossil over in his hand and gingerly placed it on the desk.

The next-shiniest thing was the nameplate from his old office door, before the first demotion. Heaven hadn't known he lost the sword, but simply asking to retain his job on Earth after the fall of man had been cause enough. Cherubim had been expected to return to Heaven. They'd let him keep the Principality position, because no one else wanted it, but they'd slowly whittled away at his rank as he … let other responsibilities fall by the wayside.

Aziraphale reached in and picked the nameplate up, since his name was engraved in Enochian and likely to bite at Crowley's fingers if he touched it. Underneath that was an assortment of quills and pens, the metal-boxed sword maintenance kit, and a sheath of personalized stationary still in the plastic-wrap. It was so old that the header read _The Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Honored Virtue._

He saw the look on Crowley's face and said, "I actually stuck it out as a Virtue for quite a while. Gabriel may have disapproved of some of my miracles but he could never fault my technique."

"Why'd you get kicked down, then?"

"I was never any good at signs and visions. The ranks are just that, you know. They couldn't actually un-make me as a Cherub. Just take some responsibilities away."

But even though that left Aziraphale wide-open for another leer about parties, Crowley didn't look up from the box. He had one hand resting on the desk and another reaching out for the next layer of the box. But his hand was stuck, hovering. One of his fingers twitched. Aziraphale watched him for a moment and then leaned over to look into the box, wondering if there was some other incidentally holy item inside.

No. Well. Not really. "Ah," he said. He reached in and picked the pile of clothing up with both hands. It still smelled fresh out of the laundry.

"That, uh." Crowley set his other hand on the desk, too. "That your…?"

"Uniform. For Armageddon. Surprised this made it back into my locker in the first place."

"Mmm."

Aziraphale put the clothes down on the desk. Everything had been collected into a neat stack. Shoes, unworn. Brand new white spats. Knee socks and a matching white garter belt. Undershorts. Kilt. Undershirt. Jacket, with brass buttons and a high collar. Tucked in between the undershirt and the jacket was a velvet box. Aziraphale grimaced at it and set it aside without opening it.

Crowley immediately stroked a finger over the white velvet but didn't move to open it. "What's in here?"

"See for yourself." Aziraphale was looking unhappily at the kilt. Big blocks of beige and darker beige cut through with white lines. There was no imagination to Heaven's tartan.

Sliding the edge of his thumb under the lid, Crowley flipped the velvet box open.

It was big enough to hold exactly two metal pins. One about the length of Aziraphale's thumb. Four pale gold wings acid-etched with fine feathery detail. All the Cherubim (current and former) would have been issued one. The other pin was a simple gold sunburst, the size of a bottle cap minus the rays. Crowley swept his thumb across its face and swallowed audibly.

"I think they only made me a lieutenant because it would have been awkward to have me as a private," Aziraphale admitted. "I never even met most of my troop."

"Mmm," said Crowley, again.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment. Crowley didn't seem to notice. He lifted his thumb from the starburst and tilted the velvet box so the pins caught the light. The expression on his face reminded Aziraphale of the times he'd smile at Crowley and Crowley would fade out and fail to register the next several things Aziraphale said to him.

He said, "The jacket was woven specially to allow my wings out without tearing," and Crowley didn't even look up. He added, "I suspect that Uriel would have called up a holy wind to make all our feathers and kilts rustle becomingly."

Crowley lifted his head. "Huh?"

"Nothing." Aziraphale smiled. "I didn't think you favored uniforms, Crowley."

"What makes you think I wouldn't appreciate a uniform?"

Aziraphale laced his fingers together and looked Crowley up and down. It was not a leer. Crowley growled a bit at the back of his throat and Aziraphale smiled. "They're just expected to be neat, Crowley. All straight lines. Besides, this one is very…" He shook his head. "Heavenly."

"Ohh, bet you could pull it off," Crowley murmured.

Both Aziraphale's eyebrows went up.

Crowley's face colored, briefly. He pulled away from the desk entirely and slid his hands into his pockets. Shuffled backward a couple of steps. Slouched against the wall.

"You always wore kilts better," Aziraphale told him. He slid his hand under the tartan fabric and rolled his thumb across it. Slow. He couldn't see Crowley's eyes through his sunglasses, not from this angle, but he felt like his fingers were being tracked.

"Don't know about that. You drawing Scotland in our coin tosses did always have an upside." Crowley shrugged at Aziraphale's startled blinks. "Legs, angel."

"Well," Aziraphale said. There was a warm feeling in his gut. It wasn't unpleasant.

"Plus, horses like you best."

"You could have gotten along with horses," Aziraphale said. He followed one of the thin white lines in the tartan with his fingertip. Crowley's head actually tilted to follow. "I never even tried this on."

Crowley pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. Hummed. "Nobody stopping you."

***

It took some time for Aziraphale to change.

Crowley sat in the office rolling chair and put his feet up. There were no books on the desk, so this was safe. He laced his fingers together behind his head and wiggled down into the chair, which was so stiff he had to do some occult suggesting to make it comfortable. Aziraphale had interesting ideas about furniture for someone who criticized Crowley's endlessly and had ended up 'finding' an entire living room Crowley must have 'forgotten about' when he first purchased his flat.

The point is that he was laughing to himself about how Aziraphale had only lasted through three weeks of regularly visiting Crowley's flat before adding a couch to it, and was already sitting down, when Aziraphale walked back into the room.

The second part was more important than the first. Even though he choked on his laugh a bit.

The kilt stopped just above Aziraphale's knees. Crowley couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Aziraphale in spats - they were laid perfectly across his shoes. His white socks were also perfectly straight, and there was just a tiny strip of white fabric disappearing underneath the kilt, which meant - Which meant, Crowley thought, inhaling, that Aziraphale had put everything on down to the garters.

Aziraphale gave him a slightly exasperated look. He also blushed. And fiddled with his badges, pinned above his heart. "I'm sure this isn't to regulation."

"Looksss fine to me," Crowley said, in a completely normal voice.

Another exasperated look, and another blush. Aziraphale lowered his hand and started twisting his ring, which he'd left on even with the uniform. Actually, Crowley found he was kind of into that. Aziraphale asked, "What were Hell's uniforms going to be like?"

Crowley let out a ripple of a groan. "We gave up on that whole thing around the time zippers were invented." He swung his feet down from the desk and crossed the room.

Aziraphale held still for what was probably the least holy uniform inspection ever. His eyes did move as Crowley walked around him, twice, and he did take a deep breath when Crowley stopped in front of him to smooth the front of his jacket out. Not that there had actually been any wrinkles. Being able to touch Aziraphale when he was done up in finery was still new. Crowley had spent a lot of time around tempting fabric. The early 1800s had been a trial.

"Do I measure up?" Aziraphale asked.

"More than," Crowley assured him. He traced the outline of Aziraphale's Cherub pin with the edge of a fingernail and watched Aziraphale's chest stutter with his breath. "Would've had to fight to keep them off you, angel."

Aziraphale's forehead wrinkled. "In Hell?"

"Mm-hmm." Crowley touched the button at Aziraphale's throat. Felt him swallow.

"What, as if." Aziraphale paused as Crowley moved his hand to the gold stripes on his shoulders. "As if I would have been a. A prize."

Crowley did actually want to get laid, preferably in the next ten minutes before Aziraphale had a chance to regret the garter belt or the kilt or this damnable jacket with its brass buttons. So he did not tease Aziraphale for the heady anticipation in his voice. Instead he said, "You don't think Hell's most productive agent could've talked them into letting him have one little angel for himself?"

Aziraphale stared at him.

"Orrr not," Crowley said, squirming. He dropped his hand and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. Maybe that had been a few centimeters too far over the Armageddon line. "Just a joke."

"Wouldn't it make more sense for me to be the one who captured you?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley's mouth opened and stuck that way.

"I would have been leading a troop of thirty angels." Aziraphale locked his hands together behind his back and took a step to the side. Then he turned, took a couple of more steps, turned again…

The thing about inhabiting a body that remembered being a snake was that Crowley didn't actually have to shut his mouth to swallow. Aziraphale continued walking and turning. Circling. He walked close enough that the hem of his kilt brushed Crowley's jeans, and Crowley sucked in a breath.

"Heaven wouldn't have let you take a whole troop after one measly demon."

Aziraphale lifted and dropped one shoulder. "You are the Serpent of Eden. Clever. Wily. One of Hell's most productive agents."

Crowley snorted.

"My dear," Aziraphale said, coming to a halt in front of him. It felt like stepping out of the ocean. Like the tide was still pulling at his legs. Crowley wondered if that was how Aziraphale felt, every time Crowley stopped circling him. "You said it yourself, and you know the reputation you gained in Heaven. You helped me write some of those reports. They certainly would have been interested in your capture, if only to pump you for information."

_"Pump,"_ Crowley said, reflexively, ignoring the equally reflexive eye roll he got in return.

"Of course, you could've always separated me from the rest of them."

Crowley wet his lips. Azirapahle's eyes went down to his mouth. "Nah," Crowley said. "We could play… make a deal."

"I don't think you would've been in much of a position to negotiate."

"You forget. I'm a demon. I'm very good at bargaining."

Aziraphale watched his mouth for a moment and then glanced up. His face grew slightly pink. Crowley couldn't see his hands, twisted together behind the angel's back, but he had the feeling from the set of Aziraphale's shoulders that he was fidgeting. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about Hell's uniform?" he asked.

"How do you feel about surprises, angel?"

***

Crowley made Aziraphale leave the room and then count down from sixty before he could return. Said he needed to 'tidy up the place,' and then promised that didn't mean anything more than moving the books aside where they wouldn't get damaged.

When Aziraphale finally stepped back inside, he said, "I trust you haven't been kept waiting long."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. Didn't speak. Couldn't. A length of white fabric was stuffed between his teeth and tied tight at the back of his head. He was sitting on a desk at the center of the room, wearing… Well, wearing what the forces that had captured him had decided to leave him with.

In the corner rested a large rectangular shield. Most of Crowley's other things had been left on the desk with him. His full-face bronze helmet bore a snarling snake, and the silver shin guards were each decorated with apple trees. The padding and the leather guard that would have protected Crowley's sword arm sat next to them. But not the sword itself.

Aziraphale walked to the desk and picked up a manila folder. "Crowley, also known as Anthony J. Crowley, also known as the Serpent of Eden, also known as Crawly," he read.

He flipped the folder open and froze.

Crowley tilted his head to one side, his already-mussed hair falling across his forehead. No sunglasses to hide that his eyes trailed Aziraphale up and down.

Aziraphale closed the folder. The file made as hard a sound as paper could make. It was a good thing he had practice keeping his face beatifically blank in Heaven, because otherwise he absolutely could not have kept a straight face at the first document in Crowley's file.

He was positive that no capture file on any demon would include a nude pin-up shot.

"I suppose they thought your sword was too dangerous to leave in here even with you restrained," he said, placing the folder back on the desk. "They're probably melting it down. Can't have Hell-forged weapons in Heaven. We shouldn't have demons, either, of course. But you aren't just any demon, are you?"

"Mmm," Crowley agreed.

Aziraphale touched the helmet and ran a fingertip along the snake, tracing the fangs. He did his best to examine Crowley from the corner of his eye. Crowley was shirtless, but then, Murmillo gladiators had always fought bare-chested. Wrapped around his hips was a short length of red fabric, held in place with a wide leather belt. The fabric was short at Crowley's sides and marginally longer between his legs. Enough to keep him … decent.

All right. So it was a loincloth. A historically appropriate loincloth, but a loincloth nonetheless.

Crowley's lips moved against the gag.

Aziraphale thought about miracling it away and decided against it. Instead he reached around and untied the knot himself. He took his time loosening the fabric and slowly pulling it free from Crowley's face, his mouth. Crowley's tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Aziraphale kept the gag in his hands and leaned back. "You were saying something?"

"Going to make an example of me," Crowley's eyes darted to the pins on Aziraphale's chest, "Lieutenant?"

"That's Principality to you. And no."

"Awful lot of trouble, having me trussed up if you aren't going to do anything with me."

Aziraphale rubbed the cloth gag between two fingers. Imagined the look on Crowley's face, as he'd sat on the desk - wearing _that_ \- and miracled the rope around his wrists. The gag into his mouth. "I didn't say I wasn't going to do anything with you. And it wouldn't have been an ordeal if you hadn't insisted on making such trouble of yourself."

Crowley barked out a laugh and let his legs fall even further open. The loincloth shifted against his thighs. "Did you miss the uniform? My job is making trouble of myself."

"Not anymore." Aziraphale wrapped the cloth partly around one hand and pulled the remainder taut. It was soft fabric. Very fine. He thought he might keep it, after this, and wondered if that was obvious on his face, from the way Crowley watched him. He cleared his throat. "As I said, you have lost the battle. Hell has lost the War."

"And you're just going to, what? Keep me?" For the first time, Crowley tried moving his wrists. The rope dug into his skin. No give.

"You like making deals. That's what your file says."

"Not the kind of deals you'd be interested in, Principality."

The gag was still pulled tight between Aziraphale's hands. "Tempt me," he suggested.

Crowley looked at him skeptically.

"Unless you don't think you can." Aziraphale half-twisted to look down at the gladiator paraphernalia scattered over his desk. The detail was truly fine, for something Crowley had come up with on the fly. "I can see that you might be worn out. My captain said you gave quite the chase."

Crowley shot him a look. Which quickly melted from a glare to a slow appraisal of Aziraphale, from head to toe, no less intense than the first time downstairs. His eyes lingered on Aziraphale's thighs and Aziraphale had to fight the urge to fidget. The Lieutenant that troop of angels had been waiting for would not fidget. Not in his own office. Not under the scrutiny of a demon.

Then, in his lap, Crowley stretched his fingers out straight. The rope didn't prevent him from pressing his fingers and palms flat against each other. It took Aziraphale a moment to recognize, but when he did, his breath caught. Crowley had clasped his hands together in prayer.

While Aziraphale watched, Crowley slithered down to his knees and gazed up with thin-pupil eyes.

"O blessed Principality," Crowley murmured. "I beseech thee."

"Do you?" Aziraphale asked. He was sure that his voice was not breathy. Positive. Couldn't be.

"Show mercy." The corner of Crowley's mouth turned up, but he smoothed out the smile before going on. "Bestow upon me your favor. Guide me through the temptations of Hell and walk me through the gates of Heaven. Treasure me as you treasure your dearest."

Aziraphale sat heavily on the desk.

"Wouldn't you like to brag about reforming the Serpent of Eden? Could dress me up in white and have me follow you around."

Crowley's voice was low and silky and exactly the same lilting cadence as Aziraphale had heard him using on humans for centuries, millennia. It was his Temptation voice. The one he'd leaned in close and used in Aziraphale's ear, near the beginning of the Arrangement, trying to teach Aziraphale to twist words in the same way. Aziraphale was rubbish at it. Always had been. Crowley had gotten very drunk and despairing and told him, once, to keep his mouth shut and _make those eyes at them, angel, you'll have them tripping after you._

"What do you get out of this deal, Serpent?" he asked, trying to pull himself away from the memory of that voice, Crowley's breath on his skin. Trying to settle himself back into this uniform, which he was suddenly concerned did not hide much.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale's legs, parted slightly under the kilt. He touched his tongue to one sharp tooth and glanced back up. His pupils widened slightly.

"That hardly seems like a bargain for you," Aziraphale protested. He was sure his face was pink. He just hoped the high collar of his jacket hid the way he swallowed.

"Demonic priorities," Crowley told him. "Plus, you won't be able to get rid of me after this."

"I won't."

Crowley treated it like it had been a question. "You won't want anyone to know you took a captured demon and…" He let his grin stay on his face this time. "...brought him closer to Heaven on his knees, yeah?"

Aziraphale set the gag down. With one hand he reached up and brushed Crowley's hair away from his forehead. Swept it back from his face, ran his fingers through it, let his fingertips brush along Crowley's scalp. Under his touch Crowley sucked in a deep breath. Aziraphale dragged his hand to cup the back of Crowley's head.

It wasn't necessary. Crowley leaned forward to dip his head underneath Aziraphale's kilt all on his own.

The truth was that the kilt did not hide much. And although Aziraphale had fastened the garter belt into place, to keep his socks up, he hadn't bothered with the undershorts. Crowley made an appreciative sound and swept his tongue over the end of Aziraphale's exposed cock, already half-hard.

Aziraphale grabbed the edge of the desk with his free hand.

When Crowley closed his lips and shifted his jaw and pushed forward, the fabric of the kilt bunched up against Aziraphale's thighs. Aziraphale kept a hand against the back of Crowley's head, touch light, just enough to stroke his thumb through Crowley's hair and apply a gentle pressure as Crowley leaned back. Enough to keep Crowley from pulling free.

Crowley cast a look upward, and his eyes suggested that if his lips weren't still closed over Aziraphale's cock he would be smirking. His tongue slid along the underside of Aziraphale's cock. He spread his own legs a little, his knees pressing down hard on the wood floor.

"If I read the rest of your file," Aziraphale said, brushing Crowley's hair away from his forehead, "would it tell me you ever did a stint as an incubus? Succubus?"

Crowley pushed against Aziraphale's palm until Aziraphale let him lean back far enough to speak. "They make you do group projects and standarized tests for sex magic certification, Principality. Do I look like a demon who'd sit through night classes for a century?"

"You look like a demon who once bragged about inspiring Scantron examinations," Aziraphale reminded him.

"Says someone who acts like he hasn't read my file. See anything you like?"

Aziraphale tightened his hand in Crowley's hair again and pulled him forward. Crowley took the hint and put his mouth back to better use. Maybe the file did mention Scantron tests, if Aziraphale had bothered to flip past the pin-up of Crowley in the bunny-ear headband and tartan bowtie collar and nothing else.

Not that the loincloth actually left Crowley more covered. Not with the way he'd let his knees fall open, and how he moved his hips when he took Aziraphale into his mouth again. Not with the way he was already hard himself, while he closed his lips and sucked on Aziraphale's cock.

Aziraphale had to let his eyes fall shut. "I think," he started, and then couldn't finish, because Crowley was moving back and forth. 

The kilt lay haphazard across Aziraphale's lap now, shoved into an odd angle from Crowley's efforts. He could feel the fabric shift every time Crowley's lips brushed the base of his cock, and feel it fall down when Crowley leaned back, his tongue teasing. He was sure he must look a mess. Crowley must be a vision, hair messy and mouth wet and pupils wide, but Aziraphale's head was tipped back and he couldn't get himself to look.

Crowley took a break for unnecessary air and pressed his lips to the side of Aziraphale's cock. A full-body shiver rocked through Aziraphale. His kilt lay half across his cock now.

Both of Crowley's hands bunched up in the tartan fabric. He shoved the hem up back over Aziraphale's thighs, to his hips. He took Aziraphale down again and let out such a deeply satisfied noise around Aziraphale's cock that Aziraphale gasped. His hips jerked so his cock hit the back of Crowley's throat, and Crowley made that little pleased sound he always did. So close. But he couldn't look. If he could see the expression on Crowley's face, he might come apart on the spot. Wings went with the uniform but he didn't want to test the metaphysical integrity of the office. Or, frankly, the physical integrity of the desk.

Crowley let go of the kilt to dig his fingers into Aziraphale's thighs, pleasant points of pressure on Aziraphale's skin. Aziraphale realized he was biting his lip, that he was thrusting his hips to shove his cock further into Crowley's mouth, that he was so _close,_ "Crowley, I think-"

Crowley abruptly leaned all the way back. Let his hands drop. Let Aziraphale's kilt fall back across his thighs and his still-hard cock.

Panting, Aziraphale opened his eyes.

"Lieutenant," Crowley breathed, snickering. His hair _was_ a mess, and his mouth _was_ wet, and his hands were free. He raised wrists which bore reddened marks but no rope. "Did you think you actually had me?"

***

"I suppose this means our deal is canceled."

"Nope." Crowley made sure to say it with a pop. "You're not getting out of this that easy."

The deeper flush that rose to Aziraphale's face was so satisfying that Crowley was tempted to tackle him on the desk right then. The way Aziraphale was looking at him suggested the angel would let him do it, too. 

But Crowley settled his hands on Aziraphale's knees and pushed himself to his feet. No tackling. He didn't want this to be over that fast. And it was fun to watch Aziraphale's blush spread down from his face, over his neck, underneath his jacket collar.

Actually. That was an idea.

Crowley reached forward and slowly undid the first button on Aziraphale's jacket. Using just one hand he pressed his thumb to the brass circle and eased it through the buttonhole, not bothering to bite back a grin when the button was free and Aziraphale let out a little hitched breath with it. He let his hand drift down to the second button and did the same. The top of the jacket gaped open, just enough to offer a peek at Aziraphale's undershirt and the heat-red line of his throat.

"Look at you," Crowley murmured. He shifted his hand to drag his thumb over Aziraphale's Adam's apple. "Not even putting up a fight."

Aziraphale asked, "Do you want me to?", which made his throat move under Crowley's hand.

Tempting. But that might end up with ripped clothes, and Aziraphale would fuss.

Also, last time, Crowley had ended up the one tackled under a blessedly strong set of hands, and while he wasn't opposed what he really wanted right now was the kilt up around Aziraphale's hips. The kilt that came nowhere near hiding that a lack of immediate attention hadn't… dampened Aziraphale's interest.

"Don't think we need to go there." Crowley laid his hand against the side of Aziraphale's neck.

It wasn't necessary. Aziraphale tilted his head all on his own. Crowley still had to nuzzle the collar aside, but there was access, now, for him to kiss Aziraphale's throat.

And still access for him to slip his other hand along Aziraphale's thigh. Aziraphale moved his hips, and Crowley carefully avoided even brushing his hand along Aziraphale's cock. He was only perched on the edge of the desk, which made it easy for Crowley to slide the side of his thumb against Aziraphale's balls. Aziraphale tried to lean his head back and couldn't, not with Crowley holding him in place.

Crowley kept his hand moving, teasing small circles against Aziraphale's skin. When he dragged his thumb between Aziraphale's balls he also opened his mouth and sucked at Aziraphale's neck.

There wasn't much Aziraphale could do with his hands, here, but one did end up in Crowley's hair, tugging a little. And Aziraphale latched onto his shoulder and pulled him closer. It made the brass buttons of his jacket rub against Crowley's chest, his stomach, and something about that was too hard to resist.

His interest also hadn't, er, dampened. Crowley shifted his weight to one foot so the loincloth moved and when he pushed his hips forward his cock rubbed along Aziraphale's, the kilt shoved high on Aziraphale's thighs now. Aziraphale was hard against him and the kilt was bunched up between them. Crowley was pretty sure if he kept working Aziraphale like this one of them was going to come in a few moments.

It felt so good and somehow Crowley managed to be minorly pissed off that he couldn't _see_ it at the same time. Having his mouth at Aziraphale's neck didn't make it easy to commit to memory what Aziraphale looked like right now.

Which maybe meant that when he raised his head and kissed Aziraphale's mouth there was a bit of teeth to it.

Aziraphale grabbed at the edge of the desk. His other hand flew up to clutch at Crowley's shoulders. His fingers scraped Crowley's back, looking for a shirt to grasp and finding bare skin. He left stinging stripes behind and his hand found the line where Crowley's wing would've joined to him, if it'd been manifested. Crowley hissed appreciatively.

"Dearest-" Aziraphale started, distracted, apologetic.

"Answering my prayers now, Lieutenant?" Crowley pulled his hand out from under the kilt.

Aziraphale grumbled, but there was also already a red bruise shining on his throat, so Crowley didn't much care. He moved both his hands to Aziraphale's knees just above where the white socks ended. His garter straps dug into Crowley's palms.

Crowley nudged him over, so that when Aziraphale fell back on his elbows the length of the desk was there to support him.

The kilt fell down, too, to gather at Aziraphale's hips. The waistband hid most of the garter belt but Crowley still got a good look at where the white fabric swept down into narrow points, the brass fastenings that kept the straps attached. And he got a fantastic look at Aziraphale's cock, leaking precum and still wet from Crowley's mouth.

"Really won't be able to get rid of me after this," Crowley told him. If he stalled for a second he'd last longer than that once he finally got himself into Aziraphale. Fuck. Sometimes the angel made him feel downright _mortal._

"Did you think I wouldn't keep up my half of the deal?"

"Did I think the angel that had me ordered tied up, gagged, and left on his desk would keep his half of the deal?"

Aziraphale bit his lip and blushed as if he actually had made such an order.

"Keep your knee up," Crowley said.

Aziraphale did, while Crowley reached between them with a miraculously slick hand to work him open. Slowly. Because if it was one thing Crowley had Aziraphale beat on, it was patience. It didn't take long until Aziraphale was shuddering and breathing hard and, yep, right on schedule, "Crowley, I swear-"

"Sorry, what was that? I have trouble hearing begging when it's mumbled."

"I am not begging," Aziraphale insisted, his hips jerking when Crowley curled his fingers and thrust. Aziraphale added, like an afterthought, "Demon."

"Oh, I got downgraded from Serpent! That hurts."

"I could miracle that gag back into your mouth," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley pulled his hand away. Aziraphale moaned and dropped flat on the desk, his head hitting the wood with a _thump._ "If you gag me I can just untie it," Crowley pointed out. "Besides, if one of us is going to be loud…"

"You don't know that. You couldn't."

"All right, Lieutenant. Prove me wrong."

Crowley used the hand still gripping his knee to tug him forward, and the other to guide his cock inside Aziraphale. It had been long enough for him to cool down and it was - It was better this way, he could concentrate on what Aziraphale felt like with a clear head, he could watch himself push in inch by inch and appreciate the way Aziraphale's chest heaved under his jacket and the wrinkled mess they'd made of the kilt.

Aziraphale didn't protest anymore, just let his eyes flutter shut and latched onto the edge of the desk with one hand. Crowley grabbed his other knee and slowly, slowly built up a rhythm, not willing to bring Aziraphale back up that quickly and still not willing to spend himself that fast.

Normally that would make Aziraphale writhe and moan and, if Crowley played his cards right, scream. Aziraphale made indecent noises when he ate. When it came to something a few steps up from that, he was loud.

But Aziraphale just held onto the edge of the desk and let Crowley fuck him. He swallowed and muffled sounds and every once in a while he opened his eyes for a second and whined. Quiet.

He also kept bringing one hand up to brush against his chest like he expected the jacket to not be there. Like he expected to be undressed, to be able to touch himself. There was the jacket, though, and the undershirt. Enough layers that Crowley couldn't even see whether Aziraphale's nipples were hard (although if they weren't, something was wrong, and the angel's stifled noises confirmed nothing was wrong).

"Wicked angel," Crowley said. "Guess what they say about Cherubim parties _is_ true."

The expression on Aziraphale's face gave it away before it happened and it was perfect. Aziraphale couldn't help it, laughter broke out of him. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

Crowley grinned like he'd won a prize. He let his head loll to one side and winked.

Aziraphale kept his hand over his mouth to, Crowley was sure, hide his smile. Aziraphale's eyes were crinkled at the corners like he was smiling.

And then Crowley thrust forward, and Aziraphale's hand slipped back to tangle in his own hair. He couldn't lean his head back because he was already flat on the desk, but he could lift his chin. It made his throat stretch and his jacket gape open where Crowley had unbuttoned it. The bruise had gotten a deeper red in the past few minutes.

"Think I'm going to leave a few marks on your thighs before we're done here," Crowley said, rocking backward. "Convenient that this pretty uniform leaves them bare."

"You can leave whatever marks you want, Serpent, as long as you leave them after," Aziraphale hissed. "If you stop again I - I'll discorporate you."

"Can't finish you off if I'm discorporated."

"I am sure that an angel of my position could get you reincorporated, if it would teach you a lesson."

"Kinky."

"Crowley!"

"Should've read my file, Lieutenant, you'd know I don't really learn my lessons. But I can play nice."

Crowley angled his hips and thrust. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. Crowley thrust again, hard, making sure the shoved-aside fabric of his loincloth rubbed up against Aziraphale's cock as he did. It meant that when Aziraphale shuddered and came, his fist pressed to his mouth, he came all over (what there was of) Crowley's uniform. But really, Crowley found himself enjoying it. It was messy and hot and Aziraphale looked _undone_ from it, and the evidence was all over Crowley.

"Principality," he murmured. "Look at that. You're going to have to clean me up if you want to show everybody your reformed prisoner."

"Are you going to 'clean up' this mark you've left on my throat?"

"The one the collar will cover? Nah."

"Good." Aziraphale breathed in and opened blue eyes and looked right at him. "I wouldn't let you if you tried."

He pushed forward, letting Aziraphale's legs down against the desk so he could lean over. So he could lean flat, press his stomach against Aziraphale, feel those brass buttons dig into his chest again. Aziraphale lifted his head as Crowley bent down and their foreheads bumped together, but while Crowley was wincing Aziraphale caught his mouth in a kiss.

When Crowley came he did make a sound, but he hadn't claimed he could be quiet in the first place. And it was muffled against Aziraphale's lips anyway.

***

"I could heal these scratches, you know. Oh, I made such a mess of you."

"I am not complaining about being a mess."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the back of Crowley's head. Then he sighed, and tried to brush Crowley's hair into place. It didn't work but he thought that was mostly because Crowley's hair was rarely in place. Crowley leaned into his touch and Aziraphale bent to kiss his shoulder before coming around and sitting next to him on the desk.

There were three long scratches on Crowley's back, angry and red. Aziraphale hadn't meant to break skin, hadn't even realized what he was doing when he was doing it. One of the marks echoed the line where Crowley's wing would line up with his shoulderblade. Aziraphale did suppose that explained the hiss of delight he'd gotten for the effort.

Crowley really did look a mess. There were the scratches on his back, and sticky stains on his loincloth, and there was no hope for his hair but a shower.

He also looked smugly pleased about it. The corner of his mouth had turned up and stuck there.

"I am not going to ask if you enjoyed yourself," Aziraphale said, tucking himself up against Crowley's side. Crowley draped an arm over his shoulders and nuzzled the top of his head when Aziraphale rested his cheek on Crowley's chest. Aziraphale had already miracled himself clean, but Crowley had left himself as-is, messy and a little sweaty.

"I am," Crowley said. "Saw anything you liked, angel?"

"You had better not vanish that picture you made up for your file when you tidy the office," Aziraphale warned. He smiled at the startled expression on Crowley's face.

Crowley looked up at the office: the piles of books that had been on the desk and now lined the tables underneath the windows, the now-antique cabinet where Aziraphale kept the book repair supplies, the boxy computer in the corner which Aziraphale used for taxes and occasional online auctions. He stared and then looked back down at Aziraphale.

"Are… Are you going to hang it up?" he asked, clearly struggling to imagine _where._

Aziraphale chose not to answer. "It was a very nice picture. Very classic."

"Classic."

"I also quite liked the touch with the gag."

"Guess you want me to keep that, too." Crowley scrunched his face. It was all show. He still hadn't replaced his sunglasses and his eyes still had a comfortable margin of white around them. "Thought you liked it when I could talk."

"Mmm. Mostly."

"Mostly!"

Aziraphale, his head still on Crowey's chest, looked up at him and asked, "Did 'I don't tend to learn my lessons' sound very smooth in your head, my dear?"

"Did 'if you don't finish fucking me I'm going to discorporate you' sound like a threat, angel?"

"Do you _want_ me to keep this uniform?"

Crowley let out a small sound that was absolutely not petulant. "Yesss."

Aziraphale settled a hand on Crowley's bare knee and began tracing a little circle with his thumb. All things said and done he did have some understanding as to why Crowley had wanted to see Aziraphale in a kilt. Although the loincloth did show off a lot more thigh than seemed prudent in a real battle.

"You said something," Aziraphale murmured, "about leaving additional marks on me before we were done."

"Can't gag me if you want me doing that," Crowley pointed out. But he also reached over and curled his hand around Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale sat up straight and kissed Crowley's jaw. He hummed, pleased, when Crowley turned so Aziraphale could kiss him again, properly. Crowley's hand let go of his and wandered over to his lap. Aziraphale felt two fingertips walking slyly up his leg, back underneath his kilt. He pulled back from the kiss and reached up to swipe his thumb across one of Crowley's nipples. He said, "I do still need to get out of this uniform. To get it cleaned and put away properly."

"Happy to help."

"Let's, ah. Adjourn to somewhere softer?" Aziraphale suggested. Both of Crowley's nipples were hard and he arched a bit when Aziraphale pinched one, his hand clamping down on Aziraphale's leg. "Not that the desk wasn't perfect. But a pillow or two would be nice."

Crowley slid off the desk and walked over to the office door, his hips swaying. Aziraphale blinked. He snapped his fingers and when he opened the office door it lead to his bedroom. Normally Aziraphale protested the metaphysical rearrangement of the bookshop but in this case he didn't mind.

It might have been because he was distracted. From behind, the loincloth draped… Well. Aziraphale would have to clean that up, too, and put it away before Crowley miracled it back into oblivion. For safekeeping.


End file.
